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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174389">Time Will Tell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton'>ClaraxBarton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lies We Lead [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, AmeriHawk, Canon Compliant, Clint is NOT Hawkeye, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Panties, Sex Work, Sex Worker Clint, Spanking, Steve is still Captain America</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:47:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve needs this, needs Clint. </p>
<p>And what the hell has the world come to that this is the only thing that makes sense anymore?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lies We Lead [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time Will Tell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts">hawksonfire</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Arson!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Running Late.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hated having to send the text. Actually, hated wasn’t a strong enough word.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had had a long day. Steve had had a long </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had had a long life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he had been looking forward to tonight, had </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight and each passing minute of the day made that need more acute.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Everything okay? Do we need to cancel until next week?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve hated that text even more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of cancelling - </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had had an unpleasant, twisty feeling in his gut all day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Longer, really.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Three days ago, Steve had gone to visit Peggy. The facility she was set up in was nice, best money could buy and the staff was attentive and Peggy was clearly…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was doing as well as she could be, Steve supposed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that didn’t mean she was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it was hard, so fucking hard to sit there and see the woman who had been a tempest of motion and power and passion, now aged and weak and…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And she hadn’t remembered him, not once during the two hours he had been there. Hadn’t remembered him, hadn’t recognized him. Had thought he was some lower level SHIELD flunkie and been convinced </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was still the Director of SHIELD, had thought it was still the days of the Cold War and - </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a hellish two hours, and those hours, that lifetime, had haunted Steve ever since.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see Clint tonight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve made himself draw in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Would it be better for you if we cancelled?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wasn’t an asshole. He appreciated that this was Clint’s job, that Steve was a box on his schedule. Steve being late wasn’t just an inconvenience… maybe it upset Clint’s entire night, or more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like too long between Steve’s text and Clint’s response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was, at the very least, long enough for Steve’s attention to drift back to the computer monitor in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was in Hunter Green’s office. The man was an intelligence operative for SHIELD, and he was away on assignment in Rome and his office was close to a stairwell and not in a place of heavy foot traffic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had been using Green’s office for a year now, ever since the first time he heard or noticed something that seemed, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> off about SHIELD, about their work and his work. Green was out in the field enough that his office was perfect for Steve’s uses, and his password choices were… humorously easy. And his security clearance tragically high.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which meant Steve was buried in files outlining the death of Tony Stark’s parents, outlining the </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> Howard Stark had been in the middle of at the time of his assassination.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been something Peggy had mentioned - some offhand comment three days ago - something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>It has to be worth it, the graves we’re disturbing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Stevie, I’m here for you. Better for me is whatever is better for you.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint’s response - finally - drew Steve’s attention away from the reports on Green’s computer again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I don’t want to cut anything short.</b>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was an admission of his need, not that he’d ever - not even that first night - been able to hide it from Clint. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Won’t need to. I’m all yours. Never schedule anything else on my nights with you, Stevie.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the nine months they’d been doing this, Steve had missed their weekly appointments a dozen times - terrorist attacks, exposure quarantines, mission injuries, missions - and he’d been late a few times. But tonight, tonight he was already an hour late and -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Should be there soon. Maybe another hour?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>See you when you get here, Stevie. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It settled something in Steve, just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just knowing that he had Clint waiting for him on the other side of… this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This grave, as Peggy had so rightfully called it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because Steve couldn’t find much, the reports - even with Green’s high clearance level and Steve’s carefully, diligently honed and hidden computer skills - were vague and censored.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But nothing, absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that included the line ‘see PROJECT: REBIRTH’ was a good thing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-o-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint answered the hotel door in his usual - soft jeans and an even softer t-shirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t worn a suit since that first night, and Steve wasn’t sure why, but he appreciated that, maybe appreciated even more that Clint had made the change without Steve even saying anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To be sure, Clint was hot as hell in a suit. He had looked like he belonged in a boardroom or on the cover of a magazine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But like this, t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders and his biceps, his pecs, teasing at his trim waist, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> he looked approachable. Like someone Steve could touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint pulled him into the room by the front of Steve’s shirt, not even bothering with any kind of verbal greeting - his lips found Steve’s and it was a hell of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Together, they fumbled to close the door, and then Steve wrapped his arms around Clint and pulled him close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, but Clint was warm. Strong and hard but soft, too, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Solid. Tangible. Alive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint pulled back from the kiss with a teasing nip to Steve’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked over Steve’s attire - khakis and a button up, the clothes he always wore to and from the Triskelion unless he was called in for an emergency - and something in his expression shifted minutely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go take a shower,” Clint said, not quite a command.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve hadn’t done much all day - sat through briefings, met with SHIELD techs, gone through a mission debriefing with Natasha, and spent three hours glued to Green’s computer. The shower he had had this morning had been fine, and he didn’t want to lose any more of his time with Clint.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got my soap and shampoo in there for you,” Clint said before Steve could argue. “I want you smelling like you’re mine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that - </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah. Steve sure as fuck wasn’t dumb enough to argue with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> logic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he managed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint smirked, wide and confident and so damn sexy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” he all but purred and the word had a shiver working down Steve’s spine. “Go on. I’ll be waiting for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wished Clint would join him - they’d done that often enough, after Steve had haltingly asked for it two months into this thing - but he refrained. If Clint wanted to be in the shower with Steve, he would have said so. And Steve asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> just made him needy and whiny and -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stevie.” Clint threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair. It was getting long enough at his nape that he needed to get a trim soon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve made himself look at Clint, and the man’s smirk softened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re good, Stevie. You’re good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, well, Steve believed him. Had to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he nodded, leaned forward and tilted his chin up to catch Clint’s lips again for a quick kiss, and then went into the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sure enough, there was a small dark bottle of Clint’s body wash and two bottles containing his shampoo and conditioner already in the shower stall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It made some of the tension in Steve’s gut uncoil.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He liked the way Clint smelled, had mentioned it more than once. A few months ago, after missing an appointment because Steve had been away on a mission that had started off shitty and ended worse, Clint had started their </span>
  <em>
    <span>next</span>
  </em>
  <span> appointment by putting Steve in the bath and washing him, head to foot, with his own bath products instead of the expensive hotel provided things.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve cranked the shower head on, turned it as close to scalding as it would go, and undressed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to be back in the other room, back with Clint, as soon as possible. But just opening the cap on the body wash and drawing in a deep breath had Steve slowing down, settling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had all night, he reminded himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And even if Clint wasn’t in the shower with him, right this second, this is what Clint wanted him to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that - that was enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Twenty minutes later, he turned off the shower and stepped out, feeling looser and almost human.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a towel folded over on the counter, and he picked it up to start drying off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But as soon as the towel was in his hands, he saw that it had been covering a box.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small, flat, black box tied with a gold bow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve swallowed hard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn’t the first small, flat black box tied with a gold ribbon Clint had given him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve licked his lips and all of his relaxation, all the cessation of tension, boiled away. But instead of unease and anxiety, he was now filled with delicious anticipation as he reached for the box.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bow came free easily, the gold satin ribbon pooling against the white marble counter in a sinuous glide that should in no way be so erotic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted the lid off and stared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And stared some more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arranged on gold tissue paper sat a pair of purple satin panties.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve tentatively touched them, shivered at the smooth, cool feel of the fabric against his warm and suddenly too sensitive skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had talked about this - because Clint rarely sprung surprises on Steve. He was of the opinion that a lack of communication resulted in ‘broken hearts and broken dicks.’ And, well, when he put it like that, Steve was hard pressed to disagree.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had talked about this, but Clint hadn’t told him they were going to do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Steve was so very grateful - for the gift, for the lack of foreknowledge. It made this, in some weird way, feel more special, seperate from the frustrations of his life and work - which was, of course, the entire </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his arrangement with Clint.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve dried off brusquely, eager to put on the panties and join Clint in the other room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulled them on, felt the way they slid over his heated skin and the elastic hems tugged at the hair on his legs, Steve nearly groaned in pleasure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took a moment to admire himself in the still foggy mirror, wiping away enough of it to look at his groin. He adjusted his half-hard dick and then turned to see the way they framed his ass and -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Steve felt a rush of heat spread to his face and chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His ass looked criminal, and Clint was going to love it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Buoyed with that thought, and the way he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the panties, Steve stepped out of the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint was sitting on the small, upholstered bench at the foot of the bed, still in jeans and a shirt, legs sprawled wide and elbows resting on the bed behind him. He looked comfortable and casual and confident - he always did, and it always made Steve burn with desire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now was no exception.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But then Clint looked over at him, pale eyes going wide and then narrow, face instantly flushing and lips parting as he looked Steve over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stevie</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he all but growled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It made Steve smirk, and he came over to stand between Clint’s spread legs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m assuming these were for me.” Steve smoothed his hand over the crotch of the panties, tracing the length of his dick and watching Clint’s eyes follow the movement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a fucking genius,” was Clint’s only response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve laughed and then abruptly choked on the sound when Clint reached out and grabbed Steve’s ass and hauled him close enough that Clint’s face was firmly pressed to Steve’s groin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both groaned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Smell perfect, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> perfect,” Clint mumbled, mouth hot and wet even through the fabric.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint.” Steve clutched at his head, fingers digging down to Clint’s scalp and just - just hanging on for dear life at this point. That Clint had worked him up so quickly, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>effortlessly</span>
  </em>
  <span> was… was a thing. A thing that Steve had come to terms with the first eight times it happened. But that didn’t make it any less overwhelming.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, Stevie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was damn heady to hear Clint already this wrecked, to feel his shuddered breaths and painful press of his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got good taste,” Steve tried to tease.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint looked up, mouth still pressed to Steve’s satin covered dick, and gave him a dark look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re damn right I do,” he agreed. “I’ve got good taste, and I’ve got a damn good plan for how the rest of tonight’s gonna go. You want to hear it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took Steve a few tries to actually form </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yes, tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel Clint’s smirk against his dick, but then Clint sat back, putting cold air between them and Steve hated it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint let go of his ass, too, and used his right hand to pat his own thigh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gonna put you over my lap, Stevie, and spank your ass til you’re red and crying. And then, if you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>good for me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m gonna eat you out through those panties and make you come until you’re crying again. We’re gonna ruin these panties tonight, Stevie. That sound good to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that plan that didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound fucking perfect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” he begged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint smiled up at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got you, Stevie. I’ll give you what you need.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a tease, maybe, but it felt like a promise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Steve clutched it tight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-o-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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